


Let me show you

by misbehavin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comment Fic, Lapdance, M/M, implied drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavin/pseuds/misbehavin
Summary: Written for the prompt by anniespinkhouse at thisComment Fic Meme: "Back at their motel room, Sam explains why the stripper would be better off going to nursing school - she just didn't get it right. Sam gives a practical demonstration to Dean of how she should have been dancing."





	Let me show you

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that no one had written anything for this prompt was bugging me, so I just went and wrote something myself because what the hell, right? Also the song Sam picks is The Flame by The Black Keys because I said so.

_Not having a boner right now_ , Dean keeps repeating to himself. _Not having a fucking boner right now. I’m fine. It’s not a big deal. Sam doesn’t mean it. He’s just— What? It doesn’t matter. I’m not having a boner._  
  
It’s a lie, of course. There are bodily reactions you can’t control, and it’s only a matter of time before Sam realizes he’s capable of extracting all kinds of them from Dean.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
A gift is a gift and Sam is in too good a mood to decline anything. And, see, it isn’t that he’s not appreciative of the girl in front of him. He is. His eyes are focused on her body and the way it moves, but at some point he asks her something and the look of surprise in her face makes the dance slow down. Dean overhears the conversation, fills in instinctively the bits he misses because of the music blasting at full volume. He thinks Sam is giving the girl career advice (and, c’mon, can you imagine anything more lame?), but through a feral grin she comments that she _already_ is in nursing school, thank you very much. It’s a weird thing for Dean to witness, really. Sam was frowning at the girl’s technique but all of a sudden he starts acting like he wants to get to know her better, ask for her number, go on a date or something. He slides her more money before the routine is over, even though Dean’s the one paying for the whole thing.  
  
“Um,” Sam says, as they walk out of the club. “I guess I owe you a thank you?”  
  
“You’re fucking unbelievable, Sammy,” Dean grumbles.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just so you know, I’m never letting you live this down. And I’m never giving you any presents ever again.” It’s an empty threat, but still.  
  
“Look, I appreciate what you did, okay?” Sam says. “Can we just leave it at that?”  
  
Dean groans. “I need a drink.”

 

* * *

  
Once they return to the motel room, Dean seems to remember the night can’t be over yet. They never go to bed early, regardless of holiday season. So he orders some pizza, because he knows that soon enough Sam is gonna be starving, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and checks for beer in the room’s mini fridge.  
  
As they wait for the pizza, the subject of their conversation circles back to the lap dance and Sam’s dumbass attitude regarding anything remotely sexy.  
  
“Shame on you, Sam,” Dean says, not bothering to look over at the other bed. He stares at the suspicious spot on the ceiling, wondering why he didn’t book them in a fancier place at least for today. Sam would’ve like that better than the stripper, probably. “Man, sometimes you seriously make me question how the hell we can be related.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I mean, really, what was the issue there? As far as I know, you’re into girls. There was a smoking hot girl in your lap tonight and… Nothing. I don’t get it.”  
  
Sam’s sigh echoes throughout the room, and a long silence follows.  
  
Dean gets them more beer, because he never knew how to celebrate anything without adding more alcohol to it.  
  
After a while he glances at Sam’s direction. His beer bottles are sitting empty on the bedside table, and he’s sprawled on the mattress, eyelids closed to feign sleep.  
  
Bothering Sam is one of Dean’s life duties, but when Sam doesn’t bicker right back it always feels wrong, makes every one of his muscles tense. So right there and then Dean comes close to apologizing for, well, all of it. In anyway, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it? He was looking out for Sam. It’s what he does.

 

 

Just when enough time have passed for Dean to start considering to call the pizza place again, because he reckons he should be going to his fifth slice by now, Sam blurts out, “She was new.”  
  
Dean turns to him, furrows his brow. “Huh?”  
  
“She was new,” Sam continues, “She probably hasn’t been doing this for too long.”  
  
“What does that have to do with anything?”  
  
“Nothing, but. You know what? You need to stop thinking everyone likes things the same way you do. Like, you like watching, and I respect that, but…” Sam trails off.  
  
“What, you saying you don’t like watching?” Dean asks. “What the fuck do you like, then?”  
  
Sam turns his head to look at him, a shadow of a smirk in the corner of his lips.  
  
He won’t say it, but when it slots into place inside Dean’s mind there’s no need to.  
  
Dean blows out a breath, the room suddenly too small. He clears his throat, “How did you know she was new at it? She looked pretty damn good to me.”  
  
“I didn’t say she wasn’t good.”  
  
Dean snorts. “You might as well have. Nerd.”  
  
Stealthily, Sam moves to retrieve his laptop, and the song that starts playing from its speakers means business. He stands up between the two beds, unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down his ridiculous long legs, “Let me show you.”  
  
Dean holds his breath, doubting his own two eyes as the scene of Sam undressing displays itself in front of him. “Show me what?”  
  
He’s sat with his back against the headboard, and sits up straighter when Sam throws one leg over his, positioning himself over him. He presses one hand on Sam’s chest in a futile attempt to keep him away. “Woah, Sam, what are you--”  
  
Sam’s way past drunk. It’s the only plausible explanation.  
  
“What’s the first rule of lap dances?” Sam asks, looking from Dean’s hand on his chest to Dean’s face with raised eyebrows, like Dean is the one being inconvenient here.  
  
“No touching,” Dean mutters, closing his hands into fists and keeping them by his sides.  
  
“Right,” Sam nods. “So you can’t touch. But the person giving it to you needs to make you want to touch, and want it bad. It’s basically foreplay, you know?”  
  
“Yeah, I get it, Sam, you can stop _—_ Stop screwing around.”  
  
Sam holds onto Dean’s shoulders for leverage, closes his eyes. He starts rocking his hips to the song, moving them back and forth, in circles. Dean watches his abs flex as he pulls his shirt off, and licks his lips at the sight of the shape of Sam’s dick inside his tight boxers. Sam basks in the attention, half lidded eyes as daring as a prey that _wants_ to be caught. He’s drunk, alright. Not terribly so, but enough to let down his inhibitions and forget why he shouldn’t be doing this.  
  
_Not having a boner_ , Dean repeats to himself in a silent mantra. _Not having a fucking boner right now. I’m fine._ He wants to tell Sam to knock it off, that he’ll regret this when morning comes. But the words don’t come out.  
  
He lets his eyes wander, cataloging Sam’s skin and every move. He shoved down everything he ever felt regarding this for years, and now the realization of the possibility of it bursts something open inside of him.  
  
Sam looks _good_. His skin reflects the light in golden tones, the determined expression on his face a silent promise.  
  
Against Dean’s lips he asks, “You sure you want me to stop?”, and grinds down.  
  
The kiss is an immediate response. Dean tucks Sam’s hair away from his face, licks into his mouth. Sam sucks on his tongue, and he’s not so much dancing anymore as he’s trying to rub off on Dean.  
  
Wrestling comes in handy in situations like this. Dean grabs Sam’s ass and pushes all of his weight onto him. Sam falls back against the bed, and Dean kisses him deep, breaks the no touching rule with curious, desperate hands.  
  
Under him, Sam writhes, flushed, panting softly.  
  
“Alright, Sammy,” Dean says, pulling away briefly, his voice rough with lust, “I think it’s my turn to teach you something.”


End file.
